To Have Purpose
by Axis II
Summary: Corypheus is dead. At the victory banquet The Inquisitor is told how all her friends' threads are tying up into neat little bows. So why is her stomach in knots?
1. Banquet Night pt1

_Bioware owns everything and they do a masterful job with all of it. Except the sadly lackluster and entirely ambiguous endings for all the companions of Inquisition._

* * *

><p><strong>To Have Purpose<strong>

"A traveler asked the Ashkaari:  
>What was your vision of our purpose?<br>The Great Ashkaari replied: I will tell you a story."

-_Codex entry: The Soul Canto _

The Inquisitor stepped out into the cold night air of Skyhold. When had she gotten so used to the stinging bite of their snowy surroundings? _Somewhere between moldy, damp caves and blazing, dry wastes, I guess._ She looked up at the sky as she did every time she stepped outside, always slightly holding her breath, expecting to see a hole still ripped into their world. All that her gaze could find were starry constellations. No trace of a breach. Yet she always knew exactly where it had been. The line of discoloration was ever present; a bruise in the sky. Could the wound ever be reopened?

_Wishful damn thinking. You just want to keep fighting_. She frowned, tossing back a long swig from the bottle of whiskey she'd brought with her for company. Josephine threw a magnificent party but Orlesian Brandy and Antivan Ale just weren't doing the job tonight. It had taken her and Bull over an hour to ransack the kitchens in search of something more medicinal. In the end the head cook had grown so exasperated with them frightening the servants and disrupting order that he'd pointed them towards the hidden crate. A dozen bottles of Ferelden whiskey buried under cabbages. Apparently Josie had seen this coming.

In fairness, Ambassador Montilyet had an epic challenge on her hands when she decided to arrange this celebratory banquet. She might be complaining about invitations and catering but the real truth was that she was most worried about everyone's manners. She was the only member of the Inquisition for whom etiquette mattered. Well, her and Vivienne but it was much harder to take advice on manners from a courtesan. _Do not argue. Use a handkerchief. Do not scratch your head. When your sponsor bends you over the lacquered desk and hoists up your petticoat do not disturb the inkwells!_

So, Vivienne could be delightfully engaging and well behaved and stroke all the nobles'. . . egos. That just left the rest of their allies to frighten all the guests and give Josephine a fit. Cassandra had already growled at three of the representatives from Nevarra; most viciously at the one that was apparently her cousin. Dorian was coyly holding court with several of the prettier Orlesian lads and would no doubt flirt two of them either into an orgy or a duel before the night was over. Bull was keeping an eye on his Vint lover but didn't seem particularly jealous; he was too busy arm wrestling every Chevalier in the room. Sera kept 'accidentally' bumping into various aristocrats. She didn't really care what she was stealing; it was just her way of keeping score. Leliana would recover and surreptitiously return all the valuables once the Elf was plastered.

Varric was telling tales taller than the mountain peaks and twice as windy. Maybe it was partly being a Dwarf? Everything he did and said just had to be larger than life. Inevitably, all the attention and drink would start to affect his narratives and it couldn't be long before he started recounting some dreadfully off-color adventures. _Please, just don't let it be the one about Sera and Iron Bull's bet in the Emerald Graves. _

Blackwall and Cole were good at keeping to themselves but invariably someone would approach and try to strike up a conversation. With Blackwall that seldom resulted in anything more than a bit of apathetic grunting but Cole had a bad habit of responding to what people were thinking rather than what they actually said. When the Inquisitor had last seen the spirit turned flesh he was staring skeptically at one of the tiny cakes Josephine had especially imported. He kept poking at it, muttering 'Misery!'

Her own social graces were nothing spectacular this evening. Certainly not up to her performance at Halamshiral. There was just something about the way every single aristocrat, ambassador and representative in the room absolutely _had_ to come greet her that felt tedious and ritualized. Add to that the fact that they _all_ insisted on using her full name and it was a miracle she hadn't broken any fingers in the handshakes. _Seriously? No one else thinks 'Evelyn Trevelyan' sounds a bit too much like one of Maryden's songs?_ She was only Evelyn when she was in trouble. Apparently no one else got that memo. Or the one about how much she hated titles. They seemed to appear out of thin air, accruing with each successive introduction until Eve had trouble differentiating where her labels ended and the other person's began.

All in all, The Inquisitor, Herald of Andraste, (but not actually) Champion of the Mages, (so long as they were on the right side) Hero of Haven, (despite not saving the city) and Bane of Orlesian Fetes, (she rather liked that one) preferred the company of the chill night breeze to the elaborate festivities within. That fact bothered her. She'd always loved a good excuse to drink more than she should, fondle people she shouldn't and hopefully wake up with a headache and a stranger.

It had been a source of endless distress to her mother and was probably the ultimate reason she'd been sent to Haven in the first place. Sure, there were all the noble and dutiful statements about participating in the events of the kingdom, trying to make Thedas a better and safer place for everyone, being present on a historical occasion etc. Deep down, however, she knew that her mother was praying that a few days in the company of Chantry officials and Templars would persuade her to higher pursuits. _Got a bit more than you bargained for, Mother. _

The courtyard of Skyhold was dotted with bonfires that mirrored the stars above. It was filled with music and noise and voices. She could even pick out the sounds of a few more licentious activities in the shadows. It all felt so much more sincere. Soldiers, refugees, clerics, mages; people of every possible race and background weren't trying to judge or impress anyone. They were simply, honestly, energetically rejoicing in the fact that they had survived. Inside the banquet hall there was none of this joyful, unrestrained hedonism. Everyone was so damned dignified. _We almost died. All of us. _ Eve frowned and took another pull at her whiskey. After nearly dying all anyone truly wanted to do was affirm they were alive. They wanted to eat and drink; sing, dance, play games, start fights and fuck like randy nugs. Where was all that passion for life in the room behind her? The most sensual thing in that entire banquet hall was Celene and Briala trading coy glances.

"Got tired of everyone trying to touch you, Boss?" the deep, rumbling voice sounded like the groan of a shifting mountain. Eve glanced up at Iron Bull as he approached and leaned one arm on the balustrade next to her.

"It's just always the wrong people. You here to fix that?" she smirked and tossed him a wink. The Qunari grinned down at her.

"Not tonight, dear, I have a headache. Too much hot wind and stuffy conversation." He teased right back. He was always good at keeping their playful banter rolling, like Dorian. Maker, she was going to miss that.

The smile left her lips as she turned her gaze away and drank until her lungs caught fire like her throat. The inexpressibly oppressive emotion that had felt like a sucking hollow beneath her ribs was beginning to take shape. It started with the news that Solas had vanished. Then it grew stronger when Leliana was elected Divine. Vivienne planned to return to Orlais to continue shaping a future for mages. Varric wanted to go back to Kirkwall. Even Dorian and Bull seemed to be halfway out the door, lingering as much for each other as the cause. The last twist of the knife came only the night before when Morrigan told her she was leaving. The ache still throbbed like a fresh wound as Eve's eyes unconsciously tracked to the dark window of the mages' tower where the mysterious apostate had dwelt with her son.

_"__I can't change your mind?"_

* * *

><p><em>This is a test-start story to gauge interestreception. Reviews will be critical. _


	2. Recollection

_"__I can't change your mind?" Eve sighed, briefly taking her eyes off the book Kieran was explaining to her. Despite losing his other worldly powers his understanding of ancient lore was unprecedented. Was that perhaps the reason Morrigan had so desperately wanted the Well of Sorrows? To gain knowledge that would allow her to adequately train and protect her offspring? _

_"__You have never changed your own, what makes you think you could possibly affect one such as mine?" Morrigan's tone was harsh, cold and disdainful as always. Her natural sound was brutal, deprecating and dismissive. It had taken a few conversations and a lot of holes punched in walls before Eve learned how to speak 'Witch.' She grew inured to the tones and heard only the message underneath. In this case a sarcastic jibe at her own stubbornness._

_"__Because I'm unbelievably charming and lovable?" Eve hazarded playfully, earning a biting glare, "Ok, maybe it's just that I've successfully annoyed you into getting my way before."_

_"__Only when it has served my own purpose." Morrigan shook her head, refusing to admit any surrender._

_"__I'm getting to the part about Urzara!" Kieran interrupted their conversation, quiet and dignified but still showing the petulance of any child. Eve wouldn't dare say aloud her thought that the boy had Alistair's pout. That would get her incinerated in a fireball faster than prancing naked through the High Dragon's nest._

_"__Sorry, Little Warden." Eve apologized. Looking down at an innocent face framing eyes older than all the ages of man filled her with a pained melancholy. Who was she going to miss more? Morrigan or this brilliant, bewildering child? In truth, they were almost one in the same; mysteriously enchanting, frighteningly intelligent, intellectually rapacious and ethereally disassociated from this common, mortal realm. The difference lay in Kieran's open, honest eyes. He'd never known harm or betrayal, only wonders. Was it selfish to wish he would stay and chafe some of the cynicism off her own soul?_

_"__You want to talk to Mother. The story will wait." Kieran wisely observed and carefully placed his marker before closing the book. Eve's first instinct was to protest, particularly as she felt him rise off the bench beside her. Honesty held her tongue. She _did_ want to talk to Morrigan. The news of their departure had felt like one of Blackwall's pommel strikes and she needed to absorb the impact._

_"__I'll come in to hear the rest of the story when we're done." She assured, squeezing the boy's hand on his book before allowing him to depart to the bedroom. She didn't notice that Morrigan had been intently watching this entire interchange._

_"__It has been good for him to be here since," the witch sought an adequate word and realized there was none, "Flemeth. Now, however, 'tis time to resume our journeys."_

_"__Where will you go?" Eve leaned back and regarded the apostate. No matter how ambiguous or misleading her comments, there could be no doubt the raven mage always knew every step of her coming moves. It was even more intense than chess with Cullen, trying to strategize not just 5 or 10 but 50 steps ahead._

_"__Your short associate with the rampant body hair recounted a tale of meeting another of Witch of the Wilds in Antiva." _

_"__One of your sisters?" she'd managed to pull together bits and pieces of Morrigan's family story. Enough to know that the witch was the youngest child of a large clan, rather like herself._

_"__Yes. She was killed. The Oaf King never could think past the tip of his sword," an irritated twist of her mouth emphasized the insult, "Yet I do not doubt many of Flemeth's daughters continue to dwell in the wilds throughout Thedas."_

_"__I wouldn't have thought you big on family reunions. Particularly not after that last one." Eve recalled the look on Morrigan's face upon seeing her mother. It was beyond simple scorn or anger; it bespoke the raw fury of a hate fed in silence, the sort of rage that has to be powerful enough to break every other possible chain of fear or consequence. Eve had seen mages explode into abominations over less._

_"__I have no intentions of reuniting with my mother. Not until I am better prepared," the witch shook her head, perhaps shaking away her own recollections of that encounter, "To that end I must find others of her children. Perhaps 'twixt us all we can piece together some clue to her mystery."_

_"__At least you know what you're going to do." The Inquisitor sighed, letting her head fall back and thump against the wall. She suddenly felt very tired._

_"__I always know what must be done." The witch easily pointed out. Obviously only lesser mortals struggled for a direction in life. _

_"__Well, if you must leave please promise me one thing," Eve paused, waiting for that tilt of a chin that said her request would be entertained, "You have to say goodbye to Leliana before you go. I think she's counting on one last, good fight."_

_"__The new elected Divine Fashionista the First? To whom stars are the Maker's own daisy chain? I'm certain that can be arranged." The curve of her lips conveyed just how willing the mage was to give her former companion/rival one last match._

_Eve smiled but found the expression fading as her thoughts turned once more. There would be no convincing Morrigan to stay. She had chosen her course and was determined. The world, the Fade and the old gods themselves would bend to her will if necessary but she would not be stopped. In the void beneath her ribs, Eve knew she was envious. To have a mission, a plan, a purpose; it was something to hold onto. _

_"'__Tis most vexing when you get lost." Morrigan's irritated voice scythed through the ponderous hum of her thoughts. Eve glanced up and around the room analytically, buying herself a moment to respond._

_"__I'm not. Fourth floor of the Mage's Tower. Third door on the left. Right between the mage that's trying to create a spell for removing rotten teeth and the girl who keeps setting herself on fire." She announced her geographical certainty._

_"__Her bed as well, don't forget. Twice." The raven-haired woman allowed a trace of a smirk on her lips, tolerating the humor._

_"__She caught fire in her sleep?" Eve demanded in shock. She'd thought she was done being surprised by mages._

_"__I do not believe she was sleeping on either occasion. Unless she calls for the Inquisitor in her dreams." the apostate remarked, her innocent expression poor disguise for the innuendo. The stunned warrior pondered the ensuing mental image for some seconds. Yes, mages were quite full of surprises. Before Eve could pounce on the libidinous conversation topic, her ally resumed speaking,_

_"__However, 'twas not your location I questioned. You are lost." Morrigan corrected her earlier observation, lowering gracefully into a seat where she could more easily study her visitor's reactions. How was it that the witch could go from erect and dignified to almost animal in her comfort? Reclining as she did now conjured up thoughts of a satiated predator, content to relax without ever surrendering control._

_"__I'm just at a bit of a loose end." Eve protested. She was struggling to bring her mind back to the conversation at hand when she was still rather distracted by mages, beds and fire._

_"__Loose? You are positively snapping in the wind like a severed cord," her words mocked, but gently, "'Tis not so easy to let go, is it? An enemy, a true rival; 'tis a bit like losing a love."_

_"__I've had some twisted relationships, Morrigan, but it would still be a stretch to compare any of them to Corypheus. Not even the Ferelden girl that stabbed me the next morning." the warrior grinned, wondering if her companion would take the bait. She could always feel the damaged rib when a blow caught her side wrong. Unfortunately, the older mage was in no mood for distracting anecdotes._

_"__To have someone upend your world and turn it about? He became not just your enemy but your mission, your life. He consumed you; defined what you would do and who you would become. There is no going back now to what you once were. Hate it if you must but Corypheus became a part of you," Morrigan paused, watching as each truth clouded Eve's eyes with thought, "And now he is gone. Tell me you do not feel a piece of yourself has gone missing as well."_

_"__I had grown fond of the green glow in my palm," she ran her thumb over the restored flesh of her hand, "Made it so much easier to find my way to the chamber pot in the dark." _

_Morrigan's tiny noise of irritation gave Eve a feeling of childish victory. If she was going to be dissected like a gutted carcass she could at least elicit some sort of disgust. It was a way to keep control and that was rare in any conversation with the raven apostate._

_"__You play the fool because you think it hides fear," the older woman chided in annoyance, "You are wrong. Humor does not make you brave, Lady Trevelyan. Nor does avoiding the question change the answer. I see the hollow in you." _

_"__You do? Oh my." The Inquisitor feigned mortification and prudishly crossed her legs. _

_From the twitch of Morrigan's fist she could tell that she was about two breathes away from spending the rest of the night frozen in an ice pillar. She raised her hands in pacifying surrender before the witch could shape the words of a spell._

_"__Okay. Okay. Suppose you're right. I'm not admitting that you are," Eve clarified adamantly, "But if you were . . .What would I need to do?"_

_The mage considered the question and its speaker. The young warrior did not turn away from her scrutiny, meeting it with an expression of acceptance that approached welcome. Stubborn as she was, Eve could not admit aloud what she knew: she needed this answer. She actually held her breath as Morrigan opened her mouth to speak._

_"'__Tis obvious, is it not?" a perfect eyebrow arched up in delightfully teasing mockery, "You must find something – or perhaps someone - to fill your hole."_

_Having bested the Inquisitor at her own favorite game of entendre the apostate rose from her languid perch. The young warrior blinked a few times, not entirely convinced she'd heard correctly but there could be no arguing with the smug expression on Morrigan's face as she excused herself. That definitely added to Eve's collection of impossible experiences: survive the Haven explosion, travel through time, physically enter the Fade and witness Morrigan (of all people) telling her she needs to get laid. _

_Since there was no topping that particularly surreal moment, she had no choice but to move on with her evening and rejoin Kieran with his story._

* * *

><p>This story is taking shape as I write - all feedback is welcome and highly useful.<p> 


	3. Banquet Night pt2

Eve pulled herself from the memory with little more than a faint chuckle and a hint of gloom in her gut. She felt the comforting bulk of Iron Bull's quiet presence, patiently keeping her company through her own mental sojourns. Simply having him at her side did wonders for her mood. How long could she enjoy that security and relief?

The mission was over. Their work was complete. Time now for the leaders and heroes of the Inquisition to scatter to the winds. Would they end up like the friends who'd fought and traveled with the Hero of Ferelden? All but strangers to one another down the road? Wistful memories, funny stories, aggravations to be denied or forgotten?

Eve had never been prone to regret, doubt or fear. That was why she'd burst through those damn chantry doors to begin with. Now, however, there was a twinge of discomfort within her as she contemplated the future. It felt like a granule of broken glass against her skin, too small to cause serious harm but guaranteed to hurt more and more the longer it remained. She only knew of one solution.

"Think they have more drinks down there?" she demanded, turning her bottle completely upside down to mourn its emptiness.

Before Iron Bull could answer there was a loud whooping noise from the crowd below as two mages demonstrated a magical levitation skill and its application in drinking upside down. The fact that one was female and her robe not as adept at defying gravity added greatly to the effect.

"Pretty safe bet. I know I sent the Chargers out here an hour ago to check on Stitches and none of them have come back." The Qunari nodded to the vibrating mass of festivity with a knowing smirk.

"Hmm, perhaps we'd better go look for them?" Eve made an effort at looking serious and concerned but knew the eager glint in Bull's eye matched her own.

"Wouldn't want anyone getting hurt." He agreed and moved with her to descend the stairs.

"At least not unless you get to join in." she bumped her shoulder against his, the equivalent of colliding with a stone wall.

Finding the Chargers proved easier than expected in the throngs of celebrants. The entire courtyard, from the stables clear to the office of the quartermaster was one massive, throbbing, amalgamated organism of flesh and fire. All except one circle around a bonfire that was respectfully given space. The result of Skinner's bared daggers, Grim's face and Rocky's pyrotechnics with the fire. People stood at an appreciative distance and made appropriate sounds of wonder each time he threw a packet of powder into the flames, making it explode with the colors of the rainbow.

Despite remaining determinedly separate from the rest of the festivities, the Chargers were obviously enjoying themselves more comfortably in the open air, unrestrained and uninhibited. Case in point: Dalish in Krem's lap with her tongue halfway down his throat.

Eve's brain stuttered momentarily at the sight. It was . . . confusing. Not because of Krem. That part was easy. The Vint warrior was unabashedly masculine and the only thing that kept Varric in first place as the Paragon of Manliness was his chest hair. Dalish, though? It was hard to figure out if this meant a preference toward men or women and how it worked in either case. Eve didn't feel like twisting her addled brain into knots over the matter. She decided the attraction probably wasn't about boys or girls, it was just _them._ With that simple conclusion she dismissed the entire subject from thought and dropped down on a straw bale a few feet away.

"Did any of you even try to find Stitches or head straight for the first open keg?" Bull demanded of his Chargers as he strode into their midst and grabbed a bottle from Grim's hand. The fighter grunted angrily but didn't fight the chief. The Qunari, in turn, took a swig from the bottle and then handed it off to Eve. She needed it worse than he did tonight.

"He is in infirmary still." Skinner supplied in her brusque, abbreviated accent.

"Stitches got hurt?" the Inquisitor demanded, bottle halfway to her lips but frozen in concern.

"Not half. He's been helping out with the wounded and now the Surgeon won't let him go 'til he gives up the recipe for that poultice of his. She's even threatening to tie him up and keep him hostage." Rocky laughed.

"Never seen the bloke so happy," Krem finally managed to disentangle himself from Dalish's mouth, "He hasn't had that kind of lady attention since he near drowned and Skinner had to revive him."

"That's where he got the scars on his cheek, you know." Bull leaned towards Eve and disclosed. She glanced over at the dark Elf in surprise. She'd assumed the marks were from battles during the Fifth Blight. Or perhaps an adolescent skin condition. Eve's eyebrow arched upwards in inquiry.

"Dying do not use tongue." Skinner shook her head with a growl of disgust. This brought a round of laughter from the entire circle of fighters.

"Speaking of tongue," Dalish was obviously unhappy about their distraction, "Time we washed your socks."

She rose from Krem's lap and used both hands to pull him away, one slipping possessively between his legs and making it that much harder for the embarrassed Vint to walk. They staggered off to hoots and even heartier laughter.

"How much do I have to drink to forget I heard that?" Eve turned to Bull, still chuckling with the others.

"About half as much as it takes once you know what she means." The Chief rumbled back happily.

"Send someone for another bottle." Eve grinned and finally managed to wrap her lips around the drink that had been poised in midair for some minutes; also to the cheers and laughter of the mercenaries.

The evening air began to feel still and content. It was raucous and joyful and full of life in every direction but a sense of peace was gradually wrapping itself around the Inquisitor herself. In the distance she could make out a massive, discordant chorus singing the hymn that had become their anthem. Except now it was set to an impossibly jaunty beat, the faithful ballad transformed into an exultant victory song.

_The dawn will come,_

_Dawn will COME,_

_Dawn WILL come!_

"It sounds almost like a warning, yes?" the melodious cadence was so out of place in the crass, jarring noises that Eve fumbled her bottle. She caught it just before it could strike ground and while that meant her reflexes were intact, her dignity assuredly was not. The knowing twinkle in Leliana's eyes as she sat down beside her was unbearable.

"I don't know; I was just imagining I'd like to meet this Dawn girl." Eve refused to let her moment of fluster show.

"Ha! Takes on a whole new meaning now, doesn't it, Red?" Iron Bull's roaring laugh echoed off the fortress walls. Leliana simply smiled, unperturbed by the lewd interpretation of a treasured hymnal. Eve often got the feeling that there wasn't a lustful thought, flirtatious suggestion or deviant experience that the mysterious bard hadn't at some point entertained.

"Josephine send you?" The Inquisitor asked of their newly elected Divine. She weighed the bottle thoughtfully in her hand. Half full; her second bottle. That meant she'd been outside for easily two hours. Far longer than she'd expected to escape before duty came running her down with bows on its feet.

"No, actually. It was Cassandra."

"Is everything alright?" Eve was instantly upright. A roomful of nobles and political machinations was a recipe for disaster. Had someone been poisoned? Started a fight? Declared war?

"Of course it is. You think she only looks for you when there is trouble?" Leliana's light laughter pushed away Eve's more anxious imaginings.

"It is kind of our thing." She pointed out but hesitantly sat back down. Her pulse was still tripping over itself as she forced herself to calm. Cassandra and adrenaline went hand in hand.

"She simply wanted to be sure you were suffering as much as she. I'd not thought it possible but you might even be worse," The spymaster observed with a wry smile, "Our company must truly be torturous."

"Not you, Leliana. It's not your fault. Or anyone else in there for that matter," Eve nodded toward the glow of the main hall, "I'm just a bit out of sorts."

"Ah, did you also have an hour long argument with Morrigan before she left today?" the question was humorous but a small line between her brows betrayed the Bard's genuine irritation.

"Nope. I must not have been worth her time." Eve fought to stifle her smile. It was nice to know the witch had been true to her word.

"That woman . . .," exasperation momentarily robbed Leliana of words, "She may have changed a great deal but she is still completely impossible."

"Aw, I'm going to miss her too." The Inquisitor chuckled, taking another long drink. Down to about a third now. Perhaps she should simply surrender the night and retreat to her quarters. Except sleep held no respite for her either.

"Is that why you are so solemn? You are sad she left?" the redhead's eyes swept over Eve's face, clearly seeing much that the younger woman would've preferred stayed hidden.

"She hasn't even been gone a day yet," she ran a hand through her hair, marshaling her expression, "I'm still sore from getting knocked on my ass during her magic lesson with Kieran. The bruises have to heal before I can start getting sentimental."

"Then what troubles you? It is clearly something." Leliana had a way of tilting her head to one side when she studied people, as though the shift of angle granted her some new perspective. She did the same thing when she was listening; it made her look like she had picked up the faint notes of some distant melody only she could hear.

"I guess I'd hoped for more relief." Eve sighed, leaning back on one hand.

"This outcome has not satisfied you?" Leliana nudged the conversation further. No one had more weapons at her disposal for gathering information. As Left Hand of the Divine she honed her bardic skills and could deftly wield a wide arsenal from hot pokers to silken ties. Nothing, however, got results like the delicate curl of her tongue around gentle words. She could rip truth from stone with that voice.

Eve stared into the fire, watching Rocky's powders flash from aquamarine to emerald. Morrigan had given her much to think about and since her dreams held no rest, she'd spent most of the night contemplating their conversation. For months her life - everyone's lives - was about nothing other than that hole in the sky. Tonight it was gone. It was the first time since this entire nightmare began that she could drink as much as she wanted without worrying how she would feel in the morning. That should have made her happy yet every sip felt sour. She had fought everything from Darkspawn to dragons and now she could set down her sword but all she wanted to do was throw a punch at someone. She had no idea what any of it meant or how to say it aloud. She went with the easy option instead.

"Leliana, I haven't been 'satisfied' since before the conclave. At this rate the cobwebs could house deep crawlers." she complained with a smirk. Watching Leliana's face move from concern to surprise was priceless. From surprise to mirth was unexpected. Eve frowned as the bard actually began to laugh, starting with mere giggles before growing in intensity until she had to hold her ribs as though the sheer hilarity might crack her open.

"Glad that makes you so happy," Eve grumbled, "Not even Divine for a week and you're already the sex watch."

"No – no, it, I -," Leliana tried to object as her paroxysms of laughter subsided, "I cannot believe . . . You of all people!"

"Yes, me. In case you didn't notice we were all a tad busy saving the world and last I checked, a game of Mage and Templar between the sheets wasn't going to help our cause." Eve felt her scowl deepen.

She knew her overall reputation. She flirted with everyone that crossed her path. It was easy, it was fun, it flattered most people and gave the rest a good story. It also, unfortunately, gave everyone the misguided perception that she enjoyed a different bed warmer every night when the fact was that her sheets were colder than a despair demon's dick. It hadn't made much difference while the world was ending but now it was a growing source of frustration. Leliana must have finally noticed her friend's discontent. With effort she evened her breathing and brought her humor under control.

"Inquisitor, you are the most famous and powerful woman in Thedas since Andraste herself," the redhead pointed out with measures of patience and disbelief, "I had no idea you suffered from a lack of company. You could truly have your choice of lovers from anyone in nine kingdoms. Perhaps ten since even the Tal-vashoth are taken with you. Forgive me but are you really so blind? I had never thought it possible that you would not know your appeal."

"Druffalo shit." Eve shook her head and resumed drinking. Apparently not an answer Leliana tolerated. The bard took the bottle away, causing a startled protest as whiskey dribbled onto her tunic.

"Look around you. On this night? In this place? You could have absolutely anyone you desire."

"Is that so?" Eve challenged, reaching to take back her drink but the spymaster held it just beyond reach.

"It is." Leliana stated with certainty. Eve glared at her, eyes narrowed for a fight.

"Fine, I expect your red hair on my pillow before the next hour." The warrior commanded. Leliana's eyes momentarily widened. She was stunned long enough for Eve to regain her beverage and she wrested it from passive fingers. Only a few good drinks left anyway, barely worth fighting over. She drained the bottle before tossing it aside, turning her attention back to her ally with a sparkling flash of triumph in her eyes.

"You are the most cursedly stubborn woman," Leliana shook her head, "Winning is all that matters to you. Even when it means lying to yourself."

"I wasn't lying. I think your hair would look fabulous in my bed. Particularly tonight, it's chilly enough to build a fire and I can just imagine how the red would glow in the light of flames." Eve grinned wickedly. She had gotten what she wanted and now could simply continue to play the game; having forgotten that Leliana was far more expert than she.

"If that is truly what you want," the bard scooted closer, words becoming a physical caress near the skin of her cheek, "If you can tell me, without doubt or deception, that of _all_ the people present here tonight there is not one you desire more-,"

"Leliana," Eve tried to protest but found her throat choked at the sensation of fingers tracing her ear as the other woman ignored her.

" -Then you will win. I will give you what you wish. But I will know if you lie, Inquisitor. I always know. You must be absolute in your certainty that there isn't someone else you want more than me. Someone you want above _all_."

The challenge issued, Leliana leaned back, breaking the enchantment and leaving Eve to shudder back into herself. Her breath was shaking and she was grateful the firelight could conceal the flush of her cheeks. How did a woman without any magic manage to cast such a spell?

"You're a cruel woman, Leliana." Eve managed to accuse, hearing the thickness of her own voice.

"And you are perhaps not the liar I thought, yes?" the rogue grinned.

"You can't blame me for trying," Eve shrugged, "At least I know you actually like women."

"Mmm, one in particular more than any other." Leliana agreed, eyes bright as she looked into the distance and thought of her far-flung love, "I could always feel her eyes on me. Across a room, from the far end of camp – it didn't matter. She was always watching me. Like you."

"I do not! You have a lovely ass but there are plenty of others to look at as well." Eve easily argued. She dropped to the ground, resting against the straw bale so she could lean her head back and watch the heavens.

"Not me, silly. You watch _her_. I've seen how your eyes follow her around the room. And you do not look at anyone else, no matter the shapeliness of their backside." Leliana's voice danced softly around the teasing words. Nothing could be kept hidden from Sister Nightingale. Her catalogue of secrets ranged from dark chasms to wondrous illuminations. From time to time she brought out one of the smaller truths like a shiny bauble for children's games. Eve felt the knot in her stomach twist around and retie itself a different shape but didn't take her eyes from the constellations above.

"Well then, just goes to prove that not even I can get everything I want." She was starting to regret leaving the rest of that case of Ferelden whiskey in the kitchen. By now the chef would've sent word to Josephine and the cache would be well hidden once again.

"It would be most unwise of you to dismiss your chances so soon." The bard hummed thoughtfully.

"Straight is straight, Leliana." the young warrior grumbled. What had her exact words been? Something along the lines of 'Don't be absurd?' Perhaps that was her own emotion coloring the memory.

"One brief love affair in a life filled with battle and duty is not adequate experience," the very highly 'experienced' bard scoffed, "You must be patient. In times of distress and chaos we cannot afford to have questions or doubts. Now, we are in a time of peace, yes? Perhaps now is the time to reconsider everything we thought we knew."

"Soon-to-Be-Most-Holy, are you trying to give me false hope? Because we both know it's a lost cause." Eve shook her head. Much as she might want to believe what she was hearing, she knew that allowing such foolishness to take root in her heart would only result in it being shattered to pieces. She didn't have the strength for such risks right now.

"From where I am sitting, Inquisitor?" Leliana leaned forward and looked squarely down into Eve's eyes, "The only thing lost is you."

Being told by two advisors in less than 24 hours that she was lost was too much to bear. Eve got to her feet. Looking up at the main hall and it's warm, welcoming light she felt only a twinge of trepidation. She might be moving without a hint of sway or stumble in her limbs but her brain was definitely shrouded in an alcohol fog. Returning to the banquet now was all but tempting scandal. The risk was positively intoxicating. Of course, so was the whiskey. Eve glanced to the still seated redhead.

"Just to be clear, you and I may not get the pleasure of a more physical relationship but the Chantry and Inquisition _will_ be in bed together?" the warrior cocked one eyebrow in inquiry.

"It is certain to be a most satisfactory relationship." The Divine purred her agreement with a salacious flash of teeth in her smile. Eve gave a final nod before departing. As she made her way back up the steps she could hear behind her the Chargers joining voices to sing the hymn that was making its way across the hold. In their deviant mouths the words became very different indeed.

_Bare your blade_

_And raise it high_

_Stand your ground_

_The dawn will come_

_Dawn will come_

_Dawn will come . . ._

* * *

><p><em>This is something of a prelude to another fic idea. A character study of sorts. Feedback on voice, characterization and style are all welcome so I can fine tune and be certain of having everyone right.<em>


	4. Evening's End

The heat of the banquet hall was a physical force that pushed entrants back at the threshold. The rowdy noise of the courtyard vanished with the cool air, stifled by the warmth that now wrapped itself around the Inquisitor. Moving through the genteel crowd Eve could pick up hints and indicators of the wealthy, powerful and high born all creating a susurrus of gossip and clandestine bargains. The rising walls of the hall caught every sound and amplified it with echoes until the volume easily matched that of the revels outdoors. Except here the sounds were all more dignified and urbane.

"So then Sera and Bull come back to the camp dragging the damn Giant's loin cloth and I tell you, that Qunari had the widest shit-eating grin on his face you've ever seen!" Varric's entirely undignified voice broke through like a battering ram, "Buttercup lost the bet, of course. Not just 20 silvers but for the rest of her life she has to say 'hung like the Bull!'"

Eve couldn't quite stifle her chuckle in time. She guiltily glanced toward Josephine, immediately spying an expression of vexed patience. The ambassador was moving towards her with grace and speed. Mainly speed.

"Lady Trevelyan, you have not yet met the representatives from-," the Antivan woman had two more strangers in tow. Both in the sunset years and with faces like squeezed tea bags.

"Varric," Eve quickly stepped into the storyteller's enthralled audience, "Surely you want to tell them about that conversation Dorian and Cole had? After we met Imshael?"

"Ah, yes! Comparing notes on Desire Demons," Varric grinned, "You know Dorian once met one with four breasts? Apparently you can _laugh_ them back into the Fade! Anyway, Cole talked about one that –,"

As the Dwarf expounded the anecdotes of supernatural temptation, Eve watched Josephine hurriedly suggest the representatives from wherever avail themselves of fresh wine. She did not, however, leave with them. Even when Varric got to the part about a particular succubus that kept trying to proposition Cole but couldn't figure out what he was and tried at least seven different forms, up to and including a rare type of albino gorilla.

Realizing that the ambassador would not be deterred The Inquisitor shuffled out of the audience to her side. The arch of a single, sculpted black eyebrow was eloquent chastisement enough.

"That was most unkind. I think Lord Azino would have liked to hear Varric's tale." The white of her amused smile flashed a beautiful contrast with her skin.

"Then he shouldn't have brought Lady Azino with him." Eve shot back with casual affection.

"I have overwhelmed you this evening." Josephine observed, slightly apologetic as her eyes fell to the board in her hand full of lists and duties and names.

"Not at all! It's been delightful. Truly. No one can throw a party like you, Josephine." Trevelyan objected at once. Sure, she might want to scrape her own skin off with a rusty butter knife but she'd be damned before letting the diligent, enthusiastic hostess feel she'd failed.

"Then perhaps you could do me a favor?" her eyes came up and were playful again. The twinkle in her expression reminded Eve that she was still a terrible faker and anyone who'd played the Orlesian Game would always see right through her.

"That depends, would this be a favor for a favor?" the Inquisitor crossed her arms, ready to drive a hard bargain. If it was a big enough task she might even earn amnesty from the elite luncheon scheduled tomorrow.

"It is more in the category of mutually beneficial." Josephine demurred, taking Eve's arm and leading her along the hall, deftly maneuvering her around, past and away from any interceptors. It was done so elegantly no one could imagine it was anything more than her chosen path.

"I do like the sound of that." Eve nodded appreciatively. It was hard to not make an inappropriate comment given the circumstances. She'd promised herself to be more careful, however. At least with Josephine. After that misunderstanding that had Leliana at her throat she'd realized some people couldn't be trifled with. Pity. Making Lady Montilyet blush was like painting a sunrise.

"There. I believe you would be helping us all if you were to intervene." Jospehine finally stopped and nodded to the corner where a heavyset nobleman had managed to trap Cassandra. Whatever he was prattling about, the Nevarran did not look entertained. Eve watched as the normally agile warrior moved repeatedly to make an escape, only to be obstructed by either an exuberant gesture or a shift in the man's stance barring passage. Cassandra's hand was reflexively reaching for her left hip, continually frustrated to not find her sword. If she remained trapped much longer then the lack of weapon wouldn't be enough to prevent violence.

Hostility warred with decorum in the awkward tableau and Eve smiled as she made her way over. Cassandra didn't even notice her approach, her eyes too busy trying to set the man's terrible hairpiece on fire. The flaring temper only made her gaze more dazzling.

"There you are! I am so sorry, My Lord, but the Seeker is desperately needed to find truth," Eve swept in and took the warrior's arm, "With me. At the cheese tray."

The excuse was offered as she simultaneously pulled Cassandra free, fighting a fit of laughter at both their expressions. The man looked like he might either object or attempt to follow them but as they backed away Eve placed herself between him and the target of his exhausting monologue. Once they were beyond arm's reach both women turned and escaped as swiftly as possible. Both sighed with deep relief and Eve released the laugh that had been bubbling up inside her.

"What took you so long?!" the dark haired woman demanded, not quite so amused as her companion. Anger rumbled in her tone.

The low note straddled a line of threat that Eve never could've imagined wanting to hear until the first time it swept over her in that dank prison cell. It sent shivers down her spine. There was so much intensity in Cassandra Pentaghast; it bled into her words, her sound, her movements, her very look. Eve had once been stunned, watching her melee practice and knowing she'd never seen anyone channel so much power into a single focus. A force of nature indeed – like lightning that scorches earth and tears trees asunder. It would be months before the then-Herald acknowledged that she'd been struck to the core that first day.

"Sorry, I'd have come sooner if I knew you were in such distress." The Inquisitor caught herself staring again and forced her eyes ahead.

It got harder and harder these days. Early on she'd still been so intimidated by the dauntless woman (and her obvious skepticism) that it was only natural to dart her eyes away the moment Cassandra even twitched in her direction. Then their adventures got ever more complex and deadly. Respect blossomed into admiration and finally friendship. '_Finally' friendship._ Eve sighed. _Because in the end that's all you're getting._ Now it felt inevitable to seek her eyes across the war table or on the battle field. The longer the contact lingered, the more impossible it felt to tear herself away.

"I was not distressed!" Cassandra argued, "I was nauseated. Did you smell his cologne?"

"From ten feet away. Was that the same fellow with the soup fetish?" The Inquisitor grabbed a handful of cheese from one of the servers. No one could accuse her of lying. She could tell her stolid friend was close to a smile now. There was a curl at the corner of her mouth and slight arch to her brow that betrayed her efforts to stay serious. She was failing.

"Nevarran silks. I believe he was working his way from collars and gloves to undergarments." The fighter nonchalantly explained. The smirk pulling to the right of her lips was perfectly contrasted by the brutal scar on her left. A single expression that captured so much of the woman's identity. They began threading their way through the crowd around the judgment seat. Eve refused to release her grip on the other woman's bicep for fear both of them would drown in the sea of demands and attention. She had no particular objective in mind, only that she wanted to get away from everyone except Cassandra.

"How Orlesian. He should've just been up front and asked what sort of smalls you were wearing. That's probably all he really wanted." The Inquisitor joked but felt her jaw clenching against her smile. That anyone might be so forward with the Seeker; it was not a thought she cared to entertain. He'd end up with far worse than a broken arm.

"He would have been very disappointed." Cassandra shook her head.

"Oh?" Eve couldn't help herself. Her mouth had disconnected from her brain. The concept of Lady Pentaghast's underthings might have slipped through her mind once or twice before. Briefly. Utilitarian cotton? Dark leather? Silk, as the suggestive noble had undoubtedly hoped?

"I only wear them in battle. To protect modesty in the case of injury. I do not anticipate being exposed under any other circumstance." The Seeker gave a simple shrug as though the answer and its explanation were entirely obvious.

She couldn't see Eve's face but she did feel when her friend's feet suddenly tangled and she nearly tumbled to the floor. Swift reflexes kept Eve upright and her misstep unnoticed by the crowd. The Inquisitor's limbs had clearly stopped communicating with the rest of her body.

"You are drunk." Cassandra observed once she was certain her ally was fully righted on her feet. Upright but swaying as if to some internal music and smiling ridiculously.

"And you're sober. That's why we make a great pair." Eve agreed. She did feel dangerously light headed after this turn of conversation. Was it the whole lack of underwear part or just the way that Nevarran accent deliciously hissed the word 'exposed?'

"Come. The Inquisitor cannot be seen to stumble through her own victory celebration." Cassandra's vice of a grip wrapped around Eve's waist, strength easily supporting her fellow warrior with nary a sign. Had Josephine arranged some magical trick to make the room spin?

"Where are we going?" The answer was actually right in front of her. She could clearly see the door they were making their way towards. Destinations, however, could be more than physical locations. _Where are WE going, Cassandra?_ Damn Leliana for planting ideas. Damn everyone for making her feel lost and abandoned and uncertain about the future. Damn Ferelden for making a whiskey that made every sensation twenty times more overpowering. And damn Cassandra for having an effect even more intoxicating than the whiskey.

"I'm taking you to bed." The Seeker clearly thought the fact obvious. The simple statement brought all the spinning chaos of thought, reaction and feeling slamming to a sudden halt that made Eve wonder if she hadn't misheard.

"I'm not that drunk." she didn't realize she said the words aloud as her mind shut down.


	5. The dawn will come

Morning light crept up the Inquisitor's bed hour by hour until it felt like tiny daggers piercing her eyelids. She would have groaned but instinctively knew the vibration would only make her head feel worse. It was almost comforting, like the throb of an injury after battle that reminded her she survived. The familiar agony made her feel young. Well, younger. She'd aged a lifetime in these past months and could barely remember what or who she had been before this crisis began. Now there was a glimmer of recognition as her brain catalogued the well-known sensations. Head pounding like a Chasind war drum. Stomach full of bile and threatening violent revolt if she dare move. Mouth that felt like she'd spent the night sucking on the Maker's own beard. All that was missing was . . .

Eve flung one arm wide, searching the sheets. She recalled the strong hands that had so unceremoniously dumped her in bed. There had been an aggressive wrestling match that resulted in her getting stripped to her long shirt but after that? A cold sweat beaded on her forehead. It wouldn't happen. Holy Andraste herself couldn't command it. Eve mentally recited the obvious reasons. Cassandra was painfully uninterested. She was her one of her closest comrades. She trusted Eve completely; the Inquisitor could never betray her by crossing the line of their friendship. Back in Ostwick she had willingly seduced her fair share of women who wanted an exotic experience but she would never dare such games with the Seeker. Not even drunk.

The bed beside her was violently disturbed, pillow absent and sheets all but ripped apart. Yet it was cold and empty and therefore confirmed that Eve's only company had been her own nightmares. The breath of relief pulled in cold air that stung her throat but settled her twisting stomach. Rolling to the cooler side of the bed she contemplated going back to sleep. Even the horrors of her dreams would be challenged to compete with the varied tortures of her hangover. Surely Skyhold, the Inquisition and the world at large could do without her for a few more hours.

A quiet scrape of noise caught her attention and took a few seconds to place. It sounded like a delicate, crackling caress. Paper. Someone touching paper. Turning a page. Eve forced one eye open to squint against the harsh morning light and found the blurs of her room settling into expected shapes. There was the blob of her desk, the background mass of bookshelves, the hideously painful corona of light that opened onto the balcony and finally the oddly asymmetrical couch. It had grown a head.

Rising partway up on one arm Eve rubbed her eyes and focused again. There was still a head on the sofa. With distinctly short black hair.

"It is early yet. You should still sleep." Cassandra hadn't moved, hadn't even turned in her direction to acknowledge any stirrings of life. She simply knew.

"I," Eve cleared the rasp from her throat, "I didn't know you stayed."

"We should look into creating an alternative exit from your chambers. Leaving would have required I return to the banquet. Your couch was preferable." She finally turned enough for Eve to see the small smile that accompanied her shrug.

"You couldn't have been comfortable." The Inquisitor managed to push herself out of bed, dragging a blanket with her to fight the morning chill. Approaching the couch she could better appraise the Nevarran. The warrior had only conceded to comfort by removing her boots and Seeker's mantle.

"After so many years of sleeping on the ground any padding is a luxury. Besides, I think it was you who had the restless night." Cassandra spoke with humor but there was a glimmer of concern in her eyes, an emotion that made the darkness soft. She had recognized the signs of her ally's nightmares. The vulnerability she had unconsciously exposed in her sleep left Eve uncomfortable and she avoided eye contact as she settled onto the couch.

"Hard to not have bad dreams when Orlesian cheese has declared an Exalted March against the Ferelden whiskey in your gut." She quipped, hoping it was enough to close the subject. Cassandra's eyebrow arched slightly, an acknowledgment of her obvious deflection but she didn't press the matter. Instead she held up the book she'd been reading. It was the latest volume Eve had selected from the ponderous pile stacked beside the sofa.

"I did not take you for a fan of Qunari literature." The Seeker pointed out, the question implicit.

"Well, it's no Hard in Hightown but Varric's been dawdling something awful with the latest installment." Eve sighed dramatically, earning another smile from the staid woman.

Cassandra had to have looked through the stack of books and noticed a theme. From the Chant of Light to Elven lore, the Inquisitor had pulled everything that might provide an explanation for the crusade that had altered her destiny. Failing to find answers, she sought just a parallel; an experience to which she could relate. Preferably one other than Andraste. Even that had been useless so now she only looked for comfort and found it in the most unexpected place.

"So to bide your time you read the writings of Koslun?" the Seeker's skepticism was blunt but open to argument.

"It isn't all waging holy wars and surrendering individuality," Eve valiantly defended her choice, "It's philosophical. It's actually quite profound. It –,"

"It's poetry." Cassandra stated flatly. The Inquisitor sighed, dropping her head into her hands as she surrendered to the truth of the matter.

"Maker's damnation. Yes, I guess it is. How much approval is that going to cost me?" she lifted her eyes enough to gauge a reaction.

"In my estimation?" the raven haired warrior paused thoughtfully, "None. I, however, prefer my poems without horns."

Eve wasn't certain which of the two facts left her more stunned. That Cassandra just confessed to reading poetry? Or that she'd made a joke? Either way, it was too perfect an opportunity to miss.

"It feels terribly ironic for me to be telling you this but," she scooted closer as if to disclose a secret, "You don't know what you're missing."

"I see. I did not think you partial to pointed things." The coy arch of Cassandra's brow declared what her words merely insinuated. Eve would have laughed in astonishment if she weren't so hypnotized by the expression.

"I can take them or leave them. I simply thought they'd be your favorite part." She admitted, head spinning now from the hangover and the conversation they'd somehow drifted into. Any minute now the Seeker was going to chide her for having left her mind in the care of a brothel and then leave.

"Perhaps it is a merely a question of exposure. Convince me." The tone of Cassandra's words balanced tortuously between suggestion and command.

"What?" Eve had never found her brain so unwilling to function. Even her superlative sense of humor had faltered.

"I might be persuaded that this indulgence of yours has merit," with a casual flick of her wrist the Seeker tossed the Qunari book into Eve's lap, "Which is your favorite?"

The rapid shifts of mood and subject left the younger warrior feeling stranded at sea but she gamely persevered. When would she get another chance to read poetry to a relaxed Cassandra in the privacy of her chambers? Eve flipped deliberately through the pages, finding the most dog-eared and familiar. She cleared her throat and forced herself to ignore the eyes watching her so intensely she could almost feel their gaze on her skin.

"'A vast granite stature stands on an island, holding back the sea.  
>The heavens crown its brow. It sees to the edge of the world.<br>The sea drowns its feet with every tide.

The heavens turn overhead, light and dark. The tide rises to devour the earth, and falls back.  
>The sun and the stars fall to the sea, one by one in their turn, only to rise again.<br>The tide rises, the tide falls, but the sea is changeless.'"

The words felt halting and leaden on Eve's tongue. Confession weighed heavily on her lips; she'd loved this verse the instant she read those lines because they reminded her of Cassandra. The unyielding, unbreakable Seeker had always seemed larger than life and wreathed with majesty. She was a beacon in a lost world, a guard that would never abandon her post or surrender the fight. Not just a statue but an idol; the icon of just causes and righteous war. Could she hear the awe now as Eve read?

"'Struggle is an illusion. There is nothing to struggle against.  
>The deception flows deeper. The statue resists the ebb and flow of the sea<br>And is whittled away with each wave.

It protests the setting sun and its face is burned looking upon it.  
>It does not know itself.<br>Stubbornly, it resists wisdom and is transformed.'"

This passage had ceased to speak of Cassandra. Here, the Inquisitor saw only herself. She had stubbornly, passionately fought against the world to keep it from changing. All the while oblivious to the fact that she was being changed.

"'If you love purpose, fall into the tide. Let it carry you.  
>Do not fear the dark. The sun and the stars will return to guide you.<p>

You have seen the greatest kings build monuments for their glory.  
>Only to have them crumble and fade.<br>How much greater is the world than their glory?'"

These lines were easier. They spoke _to _her rather than about her. They had witnessed so much on this arduous journey. The confessions of fallen empires, secrets at the root of wars; mankind's constant, narcissistic need to inflate ego and avenge pain. Men had wrought terrible fates on themselves and generations to come out of their own vanity.

"'The purpose of the world renews itself with each season.  
>Each change only marks<br>A part of the greater whole.  
>The sea and the sky themselves:<br>Nothing special. Only pieces.'"

The bluntness of the closing truth had at first abraded Eve's senses, minimizing as it did the efforts anyone might spend to improve or preserve their world. Only with repeated readings did she gradually find the hope buried in those words. Change was neither good nor bad in itself, merely a fact of life. So long as the world continued to greet each new day, what did it matter how or by whose hand?

Eve finally lifted her eyes from the page, taking in Cassandra's pensive face. Without a word the Seeker took the book from her fingers and silently reread the poem. It afforded the Inquisitor time to observe her companion.

Her raven hair was too short to be unruly from sleep but the braid that habitually circled her head like a natural crown was hanging loose, tucked behind one ear. She sat in the posture of a lazy crouch, legs curled beneath herself but her bare feet visible. Absorbed in the lines of the poem, her brow lacked its customary furrow. Her lips were parted, barely the space of a breath, as though at any moment she might whisper one of the verses aloud. In this pose - haloed with soft morning light and absorbed in the pages her fingers so respectfully caressed – the jaded warrior took on an aspect of peace. She looked almost innocent, if such a thing were possible. All the poetry in the world couldn't capture this delicate vision.

"I can see why you favor this one," Cassandra finally broke the silence, not yet taking her eyes from the page, "It mourns but is still full of promise."

"You hear it too?" Eve had assumed she was trying to read too much into the lines; forcing her own perspective and interpretation into the words just so she could find reassurance.

"After all we have witnessed, how could I not?" her head lifted now, eyes alive with fervent insight, "This debacle that nearly destroyed our world had threads winding back to our own mistakes in every direction. We've spent generations forcing the world to stay the same, to shape its future always in the mold of the past because it is all we have known. The Templars, the Chantry, the Empire, the Seekers . . ."

"People want their lives to be simple, to most of them that means keeping everything the same." The younger warrior heard the pang of regret in her friend's words, a taint of disappointment and loyalty betrayed.

"It was more than that," Cassandra shook her head, refusing the justification, "We cowered at the threat of change and retaliated out of fear. What did we see every step of this journey other than our own allies succumbing to base desires and self-preservation? Had we not been so short-sighted, so selfish, there would have been no support for Corypheus. No terrors to exploit or vendettas to fuel his tyranny."

Eve was silent as she contemplated the vehement indictment. She had never considered such accusations but she also wasn't practiced at untangling the truth in events and motivations. She _had_ often reflected that her own mission of salvation would have been entirely unnecessary if Corypheus hadn't felt himself on a mission first. They canceled each other out. The tide rises, the tide falls and the world renews itself.

"So how do we prevent it happening again? This time it was a Darkspawn magister with delusions of grandeur. Next time it could be one of the returning gods. How do we defend the world from themselves _and_ against the completely unpredictable?" Eve gave voice to the nagging worry that had rested in her stomach like a smith's anvil.

The Ashkaari's words about falling into the tide and being guided by stars were all well and good but didn't offer much in the way of specific direction. The Inquisition had always had a simple mandate: protect the world. In the absence of an identifiable threat that edict grew both generic and overwhelming. For days now she'd felt a pressure in her chest, a weight on her shoulders as she contemplated divining some new aim for this awesome machine they had assembled. If the Inquisition no longer served a purpose then neither did she.

"Destroying Corypheus and his magic was only a beginning. To truly save Thedas we have to stop remaking it in the shadow of history. We must not let fears impede progress. Leliana will be good for the Chantry on that front," Cassandra acknowledged with a chuckle, "You notice that in the poem the statue falls into the sea but does not sink despite being granite?"

"Does that mean something?" Eve had actually never noticed that particular fact. She'd read the damn thing over a hundred times at least but not once had she bothered to think about the odd detail. She had probably just chalked it up to figurative language or poetic license. The passion in Cassandra's voice convinced her there was more. She hadn't seen the Seeker so spirited since the time she nearly killed Varric. This was different, of course; better.

"It is impossible. But so are we. This Inquisition has accomplished the impossible a hundred times over thus far. We are carried by the sea. The changes that might have worn and destroyed us instead became the power to push us forward. That lesson is what we show the rest of Thedas. Our world is changing. It _must_ change. And we will do the same."

Whether it was the strength in Cassandra's voice or the flashing intensity in her eyes, Eve found the unfamiliar stirring of conviction expanding her ribs. It felt like being lifted, growing light. No more divine will or Maker's plan. She could direct their efforts toward the cause at hand and trust that they were like the sea and the sky: nothing special, just pieces of the world being constantly reborn.

"I have to read poetry with you more often." She finally decided, one hand unconsciously finding the other woman's slender fingers and squeezing them in appreciation. It hadn't meant anything, at least not until she noticed the hint of color rising in her companion's cheeks.

"That," Cassandra paused, collecting herself and her reaction, "Would be a welcome change."

"Perhaps the first of many." Eve smiled happily. She didn't smirk or grin or in any one of a dozen other expressions conceal her genuine response. Only a sincere smile could convey the warmth and relief such an agreement brought her. It was far too soon to get carried away. Too small a hint of permission to let herself get excited. But it was a start. She squeezed Cassandra's hand once more, elated beyond words to feel a reciprocating pressure.

_'Fall into the tide.'_

Eve used her free hand to collect the Qunari book, paging through for another poem. Her life truly was full of surprises. In an unfamiliar culture she had stumbled onto hope. At an unforeseen time she had discovered enlightenment. Now, in an unexpected person, she had found purpose.

_I will go wherever you carry me._

**"The End"**

- said the Ashkaari.

* * *

><p><em>Whatever your thoughts, feel free to pass them on. Compliments and criticism equally entertained. Confusion and chaos tolerated. Thanks for reading.<em>


End file.
